


i'll meet you there, in the summertime

by Milzilla



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, alternative universe, cause alex deserves soft loving grandparents, just gratuitous descriptions of farm boys, no alien stuff, non-canonical grandparents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-27 13:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19013530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milzilla/pseuds/Milzilla
Summary: alex goes to stay at his grandparents' ranch for break. which is where he meets michael guerin, the hunky ranchhand that his grandparents have hired for the summer.





	i'll meet you there, in the summertime

**Author's Note:**

> this was totally inspired by [ a post](https://signoraviolettavalery.tumblr.com/post/185149153395/okay-but-like-i-feel-like-there-arent-enough) on tumblr and [someone's tags](https://audreyblanche.tumblr.com/post/185149943274/signoraviolettavalery-okay-but-like-i-feel) on that post. all glory/blame goes to them for the inspiration.
> 
> shout out to my amazing bff, who betas all this stuff even though they haven't seen roswell yet and responded patiently to my msg that was like: i need sheep drama???

When Alex's father suggests that he spend the second half of his summer break at his grandparents' ranch just outside of Roswell, New Mexico, Alex jumps at the chance. A few weeks of quiet are what he needs after a busy year and an overly enthusiastic roommate. His grandfather is a fantastic cook, his grandmother tells great stories, and best of all there's nothing but ranch for miles. He knows he can take his guitar anywhere and just sit down to play music, maybe even get some written.

He's greeted at the door by both grandparents, hugging him from either side and peppering his face with kisses. Then he leans down to greet their border collie, Charlie, who responds by jumping up for a pat.

"Alexander Manes," his grandmother chides as she leads him inside. "What do they feed you at school? You're far too thin."

"It's the pants, Adelaide," his grandfather says with a grin at Alex. "Hope you brought some clothes you don't mind getting dirty. Hate to ruin your look."

"Of course I did," Alex tells him, laughing when Adelaide presses fingers to his chin to turn his head. 

"Good lord, Harry. He's got  _ more _ of them."

Harry shakes his head. "Leave the poor boy alone. What he puts in his ears are his business. Come and have a scone and a cup of tea, Alex."

Alex does. He tells them about college and his work and his friends, and in return they tell him about the goings on of the ranch.

"Oh, the girls both just had their piglets," Adelaide coos. "Come on, I'll show you."

Which is how they find themselves outside and on their way to the pig pen. Alex laments not changing out of his jeans  _ before  _ showing up, but there's nothing to be done about it now. They're about halfway down the hill when he stops, eyes drawn to the fencing near the shed at the back of the house.

Standing there, two hands gripping a saw as it cuts through a plank of wood, is the most sinfully attractive man Alex is sure he's ever seen, and Kyle bought him a firemen calendar this year. He's wearing faded blue jeans that are tucked into works boots, which should be ridiculous but is instead giving Alex heart palpitations. His golden curls are tucked underneath a dark cowboy hat, and they shake with every thrust of the saw. His face is scrunched up in concentration and he’s not wearing a shirt, for which Alex is currently thanking god, because he’s actually glistening with sweat and shining in the sun like he’s stepped out of a catalogue and into Alex’s teenage dreams.

“Oh, that’s Michael,” Adelaide supplies helpfully, making Alex jump. She laughs and calls out to the man, waving her hand.

Alex watches with rapt attention as he --  _ Michael _ \-- stops what he's doing so that he can turn and wave back, returning the smile. Alex  _ feels  _ the moment that Michael’s gaze lands on him, suddenly all too aware of the black jeans and boots, the band tee and the unkempt hair. He feels like an awkward teenager again, despite being twenty years old, and he desperately wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Especially when he focuses again and realises that Michael’s eyes are still on him.

He doesn’t have time to decide what he’s being judged for though, because Adelaide is pulling him away and towards the pig pen and then his focus is on the adorable piglets they find there.

*

“Mm, I hired him to help out for the summer,” his grandfather says, when asked. “He’s a good kid. Home from college; about your age, I think. Parks his airstream out by the chicken coop.”

“I could’ve helped out,” Alex protests, feeling the beginnings of guilt.

Harry fixes him with a look. “No, Alex. You came here to take a break. Besides, Michael’s getting paid to work. Needs the money, I think.”

*

Michael is, thankfully, wearing a shirt when he joins them for dinner the next day. His wet curls are clinging to his forehead, betraying a recent shower, and Alex’s fingers  _ itch  _ to touch.

“This is my grandson, Alex,” Adelaide introduces them properly.

Michael reaches across the table and meets Alex’s gaze as they shake hands.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, then gives Alex a once over.

Alex goes hot from his forehead to the tips of his toes and he tries to bury the sensation by stuffing half of a bread roll in his mouth.

They talk about what's happening on the ranch, what's been going on in town, and Adelaide gently prompts Michael into taking about UNM so that they can ease into talk about college. Alex can’t believe that they’ve been at the same university this whole time.

"A full ride?" he asks. "That's amazing. What are you studying?"

"Double degree in chemical and medical engineering," Michael replies nonchalantly.

Alex blinks.  _ Great _ . He's unbearably hot  _ and  _ a freakin' genius.

"So this isn't your idea of a day job then?"

Michael raises an eyebrow. "I like the work. Just as much as I like playing with a chemistry set. What do you do?"

"Alex is a musician," Harry states proudly, before Alex can get a word in. "He's doing something about music and coding; honestly the whole thing goes over my head."

"Oh?" Alex could be mistaken, but he thinks he senses a spark of interest in Michael's tone. He resists the urge to shove more bread in his mouth.

"Double degree in music and programming," he explains. "I want to do postgraduate work that combines that."

Michael regards him curiously for a second. "That's cool," he says.

He sounds like he means it.

*

Alex doesn't see Michael for a day or two after that. At least, not more than in passing. It turns out that he doesn't have dinner with the Manes' all that often, no matter how much Adelaide offers. Which totally isn't a bummer at all, Alex tells himself.

He's seeking the quiet solace of the shed today. Not the main one behind the house, which is right next to the chicken coop, but the smaller one out near his grandmother's large vegetable garden. It's the most quiet place on a ranch full of animals and working and machines. Alex takes his guitar and a notepad and settles down on one of the lower workbenches.

He's just finished tuning when the door to the shed opens, revealing those golden curls. Michael is, Alex notes in disappointment, wearing a shirt today.

"Uh -- sorry," he says, eyes flickering from Alex's face to the guitar. "I need to --" he gestures to the object in his hands and then to the workbench that Alex is sitting on.

"Oh! Yeah, no. Sure." He slips off the bench. "It's cool. I'm in your space, man." He makes for the door but Michael shakes his head.

"Stay," he says. "If my working won't bother you?"

Alex's breathing is a little faster but he stops. "Yeah, no," he repeats, like a broken record. "It won't."

As Michael sets up on the bench, diving into work immediately, Alex hesitates a second before taking a seat on one of the stray hay bales. He places the guitar in his lap and strums out a few chords, testing the sound and rewriting the tune in his head as he goes.

It only takes a few minutes before Michael asks: "You writing something?" His back is turned to Alex, hands moving over what looks like a pivotal part of the irrigation system without pause.

"Always," Alex answers after a second. "This one's giving me trouble though. That's why I'm down here."

Michael hums his acknowledgement. "Try taking it up a key," he suggests.

Alex frowns. No way is it that easy. He's been stuck on this all morning and he  _ likes  _ the chord progression he has so far. Begrudgingly, he adjusts and plays the new chord progression. It's good. Not perfect, but definitely several steps closer than before.

"Not bad," Michael says, and Alex can hear the grin in his voice.

"You play," Alex says, sounding betrayed.

"A little," Michael admits.

Alex scoffs. "You figured that out while you were elbow deep in sprinkler parts. I think it's more than  _ a little _ ."

Michael laughs again and Alex finds himself greedy for the sound. "Yeah, okay. I play. What can I say? I like working with my hands."

Alex hides his red face in his shoulder, despite the fact that Michael doesn't look away from his task.

"Is that so?" he asks and if his voice is a little high, sue him.

"Mhm." Michael hums. "Play me something, rockstar."

Alex thinks through the catalogue in his brain and settles on something classic; Panic! at the Disco circa 2008. He can tell when Michael recognises the song because he snorts, though he doesn't react beyond that. Alex starts to sing the lyrics when he's comfortable that he's remembered the chords correctly.

Michael stills as Alex plays, and it's so surprising that he misses a chord. He quickly picks it back up though and finishes the rest of the song without issue.

He keeps playing, working through the songs he knows, pleased when Michael reacts to them to confirm that he knows them as well. He gets back to work after that first song, hands moving over the sprinkler to pull it apart and put it back together again. But Alex won't forget the way his whole body went soft, like the music had swept the tension from him in a soft wave.

*

Michael comes to dinner at the main house every night after that.

When they've said goodnight to Michael for the third night in a row, Adelaide turns to her grandson and fixes him with a knowing look.

Alex goes pink and indignant. "What?"

"Nothing," she answers, after looking him over.

*

It rains all week and Alex finds himself hanging out in the shed almost every day. More often than not, Michael seems to have business in the shed. Sometimes he has something to fix, other times he has to grab a tool from the rack on the wall. He always stays and listens to a song, more if he has the time. Alex refuses to think about the warmth burgeoning in his chest when he sees Michael's curls come through the door, or the slow, unfurling heat in the pit of his stomach when Michael's working in front of him. He refuses to think of their light banter as anything other than just that, or Michael's presence in the main house as anything other than a desire for his grandfather's cooking.

If his gaze lingers sometimes, well, it can't really be helped, can it?

*

"Fuck,  _ fuck _ ."

Alex looks up from his guitar to Michael, who's come barrelling through the door.

"Michael," he says in alarm, placing the guitar gently on the hay bale next to him. "What is it?"

Michael grabs some rope from the bench and ties it to his belt. "Some of the sheep are missing. I was doing a count and there's four--"

"Woah, hold on." Alex stands. “I’ll come with you.”

He receives a dubious look for his offer, which lingers on the black jeans tucked into his otherwise perfectly sensible work boots. So maybe he’d been expecting to see Michael today, and maybe he’d wanted his arse to look good in tight jeans. Whatever.

He scoffs. “I’ll be fine.”

Michael only considers him for a second before giving a curt nod. “Fine. Come on.”

Charlie is waiting obediently outside but she starts barking furiously when Michael exits the shed after Alex.

“Good girl,” he tells her, gentle with her even in his frustration. He scratches behind her ear and then lets out a quick whistle. “Go on. Where are they girl?”

She takes off in the direction of the field and Michael follows. Alex hurries to keep up with them.

*

Charlie leads them to the four sheep, who are half-buried in the thick mud of an old drying creek. The constant rain has filled the hole with sludge and for whatever reason, the sheep had wondered in there and gotten stuck. They’re struggling has only served to sink them further into the mud, which is now seeping into their wool. Dark rain clouds are already circling overhead and it can’t be long until another storm hits. Alex knows they need to work quickly, in case the fields flood and they risk the sheep drowning.

“Here, help me lift her out,” Michael directs, holding one of the sheep under the stomach. Alex grips her under her chest and they pull. She lifts out of the mud with a sickening squelch but he and Michael both go flying backwards into the mud.

“Oh god,” Alex moans, trying not to think about the mud sliding down his back as he stands. Michael scrambles to get up, pulling the sheep to the side of the creek and onto flatter ground before she can start to sink back into the mud. She panics and tries to run off but Michael is already gently tipping her and securing her back legs with the rope. He pulls the rope under her legs and over her head, muttering nonsense like  _ shh you’re okay  _ and  _ I got you, girl _ to her the entire time. Alex watches, helpless to look away, wondering what it might be like if Michael whispered to him in a similar tone.

“Help me get the others,” Michael says, pulling him from his thoughts. Alex nods and braces himself in the mud.

Michael pulls from solid ground this time, making it easier for neither of them to fall on their arses again. They get all four of the sheep out of their predicament without too much hassle. Michael links them with the rope and they lead them back to the shed where the rest of the sheep are taking refuge from the coming storm.

They’re headed back towards the main house when the torrential rain hits. Alex considers just standing there and letting the rain wash away all the mud he’s caked in but the pressure quickly starts to hurt. Michael gestures to the shed without words, far closer than the house, and they run towards it while Charlie continues running towards the house.

Michael closes the door with a  _ thud _ . His eyes are wild and they’re both panting heavily. They stare at each other for a second before they break into laughter, amused with their situation and giddy with a job well done.

Alex looks down and laments his jeans. He’s not sure that any amount of washing is going to save them now but they’re a small price to pay. He drags a hand over his face and groans when it comes away muddy.

“Here.” Michael offers him a bundled up, white cloth. That’s when Alex realises he’s taken his shirt off. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a shirtless Michael and he can’t help it; his eyes rake over the pecs and defined trail of hair like he’s dying of thirst and the rain droplets sliding down Michael’s exposed chest are the only source of water for miles.

He hears the hitch in Michael's breath and his gaze snaps up to Michael’s face.

When he fails to take the offered shirt, too starstruck to remember what to do with his hands, Michael steps forward and does the job himself. He wipes the mud from Alex’s forehead, cheek, the side of his neck. Then he drops the shirt to the ground beside them.

“Oh,” Alex says, releasing a shaky breath. His body’s leaning forward without his permission, aching to be closer, to touch and press against him.

Michael looks his face over intently, searching for something or waiting for some kind of reaction, Alex isn’t sure. He hopes he’s responding correctly. He must be, because a second later, Michael’s hands are on the sides of his face and he’s pressing their mouths together.

The kiss only stays gentle for a second. Then they’re pressed against each other desperately, Michael’s bare chest to Alex’s wet shirt. It doesn’t matter that he’s still drenched from the rain; Alex feels like every part of him that touches Michael is on fire and the parts that aren’t are just waiting to ignite. His hands settle on Michael’s lower back, pulling him as close as possible while their tongues slide together. Michael can’t seem to decide where his hands should go; gliding up into Alex’s hair and then back down to his shoulders, along his arms and then gripping his hips. His fingers curl into the bottom of Alex’s shirt, tugging upwards.

“No, wait.” Alex gasps against his mouth.

Michael drops his hands and steps back like he’s been burnt. “I’m sorry --” he says, voice hoarse. “I thought--”

“What?” Alex asks, dazed from kissing and a lack of blood flowing to his brain. “No, I mean  _ yes _ . Obviously.” He makes a grabby hands motion until Michael moves back into his space, hands on his hips again. Alex presses their mouths together once, twice. “It’s just -- I’m covered in mud,” he protests, although the last thing he wants to do is stop.

Michael smirks against his mouth. His strong, calloused hands slide underneath Alex’s soaked t-shirt, drawing out a whimper. “Does that offend your delicate city sensibilities?”

“Shut up,” is Alex’s response as he drags his fingertips down Michael’s chest, deliberately catching on already hardened nipples. 

Michael’s laugh stutters and he drops his face to the crook of Alex’s neck, where he starts to suck a trail of wet kisses. “Let me blow you?” he asks, and the vibrations of his voice against Alex’s skin make Alex shiver.

“Here?” he murmurs, hands coming up to tangle themselves in Michael’s curls. ” _ God _ . How are you real?”

There’s not really any room for finesse on the floor of the shed. It takes the both of them to get Alex out of his jeans, which were already skin-tight before they got wet, and they stumble when they try to keep kissing as Michael removes his boots and jeans. The hay bales, covered in an old picnic blanket, provide a little cushioning while they rut against each other like teenagers. It feels ridiculous and hot and messy and he’s got hay in his hair but Alex still thinks it’s the best thing to ever happen to him.

Afterwards, Michael pulls the picnic blanket over them and they lie on the hay, tangled up in one another. 

"This is definitely not what my dad had in mind when he suggested staying here for the summer,” Alex admits, when he can breathe properly again.

“Hm?” Michael hums his interest.

“I think he wanted me to  _ work out _ my problem,” he explains with a sarcastic lilt. “Like working a plough would make me less likely to plough boys.”

Michael lets out a surprised bark of laughter, pressing his forehead to Alex’s shoulder as his body shakes with amusement. Alex can’t help but smile in response.

“Well, he has no idea what he’s talking about,” Michael says, when he’s contained himself. He runs his fingers down Alex’s chest, dipping lower not to tease but just for the novelty of touch. “I’ve been workin’  _ real hard  _ this summer and I still want you to plough me.”

Alex feels his face flood with warmth but he finds himself turning to face Michael, gaze locking with his. “Next time,” he promises. “When we’re not on the floor of my grandparents’ tool shed.” Then he leans in to seal the promise with a filthy kiss.

*

They make it back to the main house after the rain has stopped and before it gets dark. Michael breaks off the path to go and shower in his airstream, but not before saying goodbye with a long, dirtier-than-necessary kiss.

Adelaide takes one look at Alex, raises her eyebrows to her greying hairline, and waves him off to have his own shower. That means he has fifteen minutes all up to panic before she’s at the door of the guest bedroom, looking him over carefully.

“He’s a nice boy,” is all she says.

“He is,” Alex agrees, because there’s no point in lying to her.

“He’s a smart boy,” she continues.

“Uh huh.” He looks around wildly for an escape. He could survive a jump from the second floor, right?

Adelaide’s face softens, which makes him pause.

“You’re a good boy too, my darling,” she says, surprising him. It could be the light, but her eyes look a little glassy.

He blinks. “Thanks, gram.”

She clears her throat, back to business, and points a finger at him. “No nonsense while he’s on the clock, you hear? I’m not paying him to seduce my grandson.”

Alex goes pink. “ _ Gram _ !”

*

Alex spends a lot less time in the house or the shed and a lot more time around the ranch. He’s not working _of course_ ; he’s hanging out with Michael. Well, “watching Michael work” might be more accurate descriptor. He brings his guitar sometimes and strums out tunes while Michael hammers at a fence, or feeds the pigs. He watches as Michael and Charlie round up the sheep to move them to the next paddock, offering his drink bottle when the job is done. Then he stares, dumbfound, as Michael takes the water bottle and drops the entire thing over his head, drenching his curls and letting the water drip down his neck.

Alex spends most nights in Michael’s airstream. His grandparents greet him with barely contained glee when he emerges for breakfast, sometimes when they’re already having morning tea, but he stops being embarrassed around the fifth or sixth time.

*

He gets a few songs written. Most of them are ridiculous; filled with agriculture metaphors that are heavy-handed and make him laugh when he reads them over. There’s one that he likes though, about golden-touched curls and honey-glazed eyes, strong hands that can work the earth but only know how to touch with softness.

He keeps that one.

*

Summer break goes too quickly. Alex thinks it might be because he’s enjoying himself too much, but before he knows it, it’s been one and half months and it’s the week before school starts up again. He’s standing with Michael next to his packed car and he can’t make himself leave.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Alex asks, fingers at the collar of Michael’s v-neck.

“Alex,” Michael says patiently. “We’re on the same campus. I’m going to be five minutes away. I just have to drop the airstream off at Max’s and then me and my truck are on our way to UNM.”

“I know that,” Alex snaps, then presses his lips together and takes a slow breath through his nose. “What if it’s not --” _the same?_ “What if you don’t --” _like me, out there?_ _What if this is all just some summer fling and you decide --_

“Not possible,” Michael murmurs, sliding his hands down into the back pockets of Alex’s jeans. “I wanted you from the second I saw you walking to the pig pen in these jeans. Being on campus just means your grandparents aren’t watching our every move.” He lowers his voice at the end and presses his forehead to Alex’s. “What about you? You sure this ain’t just some itch you had to scratch? How do I know you’re not gonna --”

Alex cuts him off with his mouth. They cling to each other like they’ll be going weeks without seeing each other instead of days, until two separate coughs from behind them require them to break away.

Adelaide and Harry both step forward to hug their grandson in a mirror of their greeting to him weeks ago. Alex squeezes them in return, untroubled by the tears at the corners of his eyes.

“Study hard,” Harry says, clasping Alex by the shoulder.

“Be kind to yourself,” Adelaide adds with a warm smile.

Alex looks between them both for a second before he asks, quietly: “Can I come and stay with you next break?”

They look at each other in surprise but they’re soon nodding their agreement. Harry looks like he might cry.

Adelaide leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Make sure you bring Michael,” she whispers. “As a guest, this time.”

Alex laughs wetly. “He’d just end up working on everything and you know it.”

He kisses Michael again for good measure before he gets in his car and starts the short drive to Albuquerque.

*

He’s only been on campus for an hour when he gets a text.

_ [guerin]: what r u doin tmrw? _

He grins at his phone as he types out his answer.

_ [to guerin]: you, if you’re lucky _

_ [guerin]: oh i’m feeling pretty lucky _

_ [guerin]: it’s a date _


End file.
